Hello, my name is Bex Schwartz and I am about to sing you a ditty. [A Ditty:] This is my home in the blogosphere. It's not as round as a bathosphere. But it's my place in cyberspace so I hold it dear. BLOG. O. SPHERE!
Hug me, please.

Saturday, November 27, 2004

Ride 'em, Cowgirl

Adam and I went to this country-western bar last night in the middle of NJ, and my superpal Justin (who coincidentally grew up in Watchung)met us there. We went on a Friday night because the 'rents go there all the time to eat dinner, and they'd noticed that Friday is ROCK night, and they know how I feel about the rock. Sadly, Country Line Dancing is Saturday night, so I missed partaking. But we did go for ROCK night, and the place was truly frightening -- as Justin put it, it was a bastion of red state-itude. The Rock was less that inspiring, but I did get to ride a mechanical bull for the very first time in my life. It was less sexy than I'd imagined -- you got to hang on to the bull with one hand, but in the other hand you had to clutch this garage-door-opener (ostensibly to tell the Operator you were still hanging on; if you let go of the button he'd stop the bull's bucking.) Before I got on, the Bull Operator said, "I'm not trying to hit on you, but it's just like sex: hang on and enjoy the ride." And then he told me to lean forwards when the bull's butt came up and lean backwards when the bull's head rose. It was not that easy. I fell off, twice, and was horribly disappointed in my lack of bull-riding skills, because I'd envisioned myself as quite the cowgirl, because I know how to hang on and enjoy the ride. So, alas, I was not a great bull-rider. But my inner thighs hurt today.